Putrid Poolside Permutations: Viscous Variations Oozing Upon The Raft
by Quillon42
Summary: Imagines a few different spins on Stephen King's "The Raft," which was featured in the anthology-in-print Skeleton Crew as well as in the onscreen anthology Creepshow 2. The first chapter explores an aftermath in which Randy escapes, if only for so long; the second (soon forthcoming) gets down, dirty, and silly; the third (also coming soon) considers the other side of the story.
1. Chapter 1

PUTRID POOLSIDE PERMUTATIONS: VISCOUS VARIATIONS OOZING UPON THE RAFT

By Quillon42

CHAPTER ONE

Every foot's breadth felt instead like a millimeter by now. It was between two of the crud-creeping cracks that Randy maintained his strained, starved stance, the woebegone lake's white boy waiting for the correct instant at which the spiteful slime undersole would settle the most. In this reality, Randy watched the colors begin to form and twist, and the loons laughed menacingly all around…

…but then yet another sucker jab to the schnoz kept himself in line. In time with this, the sentient sludge slid in underneath, at eleven in the evening on Day Two, it not raring to relent for at least an hour and a half this time as it burrowed beneath the barrels and the boards.

And this was the kind of unforeseeable crisis that the goodtime undergrad was faced with at present. Just forty-eight hours before, all that was meandering through his mind had been the drama of that prurient pyramid betwixt Rachel, that wispy fair-haired nymph for whom he pined soulfully…then LaVerne, the libertine for whom he lusted most salaciously…then finally Deke, that Cisco caught most viscously between these canny, catty coeds. Yea, just two days previous, the poser most dire was how to finesse the rescue of Rachel from the paws of the prat who happened also to be his prime pal, how to bail her out without it seeming to be going behind the back of the robust bastard who was also his bestie.

Oh, how Randy wished for such conflicts to persist as of now, those petty zeroth-world problems all presently preempted by an effing primordial amoeba. Verily, that entire aforementioned perverse pyramid of was pulverized in the wake of the thing's taste for human hosts. And it didn't discriminate either, not between any of those venerated, Wheedon-wheedled Cabin-in-the-Woods varieties of teen victims. Seeming Virgin Rachel and Whore LaVerne and Athlete Deke alike were all emptied into the entity by now, with Scholar Randy to complete the quartet. (As for the fifth archetype…all four of these effers were the Fools).

Yet again, though, how wrong it all went these past scores of hours. From the scrapping of shirts and shorts onto the shore, to the stripping of flesh amidst the wayward wavelets…it was like a Juicy Fruit commercial gone horribly awry. (So appropriate, especially given that LaVerne on our side of the fourth wall was in fact a Doublemint Twin). How indeed did that onyx ooze emerge to… _gum_ up the works, so to speak, in so many more ways than one.

And now here he was, having survived a night with this piceous puddle, only to endure a morning and afternoon following with nothing to befall him save ensuing hours of augmenting hunger…

…Randy decided in this dooming midnight, of all times, that he had nothing to lose, to give it the old Horlicks University try.

[SPPPLLLAAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHH]

With seemingly the last breath in his stringbean body he heaved off, leaving behind on that raft the ring of his ruffian roommate, the sweatshirt of the mousy maiden he'd wished to snog, and the brassiere of the relationship-wrecker he'd actually fucked (if only for a fleeting minute). Randy threw caution to the wind and his body to these wintry waves, and pushed ahead, ahead, ahead the fifty effing yards to the shore…all of which especially now felt like more like an excruciating Ironman in acid than an innocent exercise in aqua.

Then Behind the buoyant boy, all along, was that enemy which was anything but an oil slick, its fifteen-foot-diametered deadliness closing in after the college carouser by the beat of each straggling stroke the young man took.

It was in the spotlight of the moon and in the squad-squabbling of the loons that a raggedy Randy rushed to the shore, here the student not stopping to huff out any fatally-foolish victory speech by the waterline but rather the fucker frantically feets-not-failingly fleeing for that yellow Camaro, tacky rock anthems still inexplicably emitting from its sordid speakers. Frighteningly the oily entity still lapped at the shore, it hurling itself again and again at the lake-languid lad, swart tendrils licking only inches away from the boy's legs as he reached for the keys in Deke's dungarees. Only seconds elapsed before the Scholar slid across the bank and slammed into the car, he sprinting from this locale of littoral liquefaction while getting was good.

…

…

…

Surveying his suite with new eyes now, Randy regarded it all with a keener sense of goneness than he'd ever known in his twentyish years. As with anyone else, there was a distantly similar twinge of gone that the young man would register whenever a relationship had run its course; routine jaunts to that ice cream shoppe that his freshman squeeze preferred, or to the malted place that his sophomore fling had loved to frequent, those frolics were forsaken once the bond in question had taken a break.

But this, what Randy was feeling instantly…it wasn't as if Deke had just dug in for the weekend with another coital conquest at the latter's pad…or even, firmament forfend, as if a feud had erupted between Pancho and Cisco, leading to simple estrangement between them. Deke was dead; worse, devoured, and everything now from the congealing chili in the refrigerator, to all those athletic medals milling about the other man's bureau…all they did was conjure up a figure with a fatal shooting pain in his foot; a friend sprawling as the insidious seeping sprouted beneath him; a clawing hand relinquishing its prized championship ring as the fingers seceded through the cracks of ramshackle raft slats.

It was all a new, ghastly gurgle of goneness that Randy couldn't choke back. Abruptly he made a beat for the kitchen, doing all he could to efface the mock-ups of cooking within that conjured Cisco in his mind anew.

To be able to reach a way station of serene in some cranny of his slimeshocked mind…this was all that this hokiest from Horlicks had desired as of now. Despite the impulses averse to anything aquatic, something within Randy still reached for the tap, the part of him suppressing any modicum of hunger of thirst now relenting.

And then the blackest of gack that gushed from the faucet had made Pancho pounce away from the sink of a sudden, the brash boy fumbling for the fridge anew to retrieve a bottle of drinking water to quench the dry aridity that was draining him.

It wasn't until Randy had whisked off the cap that the crude had ensued from the container, it erupting abruptly towards the wayward waster's eyes like the most fatal of faux peanut-brittle pythons.

The totality of these unctuous frights had flushed the raft refugee from the kitchen, he dry-heaving headily now as adrenaline worked to exterminate his appetite. Several pantomimes of purging later and Randy collapsed onto the apartment floor, remaining there for about fifteen minutes. Then he commenced an agonized crawl towards his bed, and what he knew would be foreseeably futile forays at rest that his conscience debated he deserved.

Really that was the thing that was tearing him up inside, as of now: Randy couldn't determine, as he knelt languidly and lackadaisically next to that tattered twin mattress, whether it had in actuality been that aqueous ebony emission that was appearing in bottle and basin…or whether it was just malicious manifestations of his mind, they assailing him utterly for not being fast enough to save Rachel…for being too "fast," in a different, dirtier sense, to save LaVerne…

Lying on the bed a moment, with no covers upon him, Randy continued to deliberate over whether it was in fact the ink from without, or the inklings from within, that were visiting him now. Then a minute later he pulled up the comforter and found himself thronged with the most infernal and impromptu form of torment.

He noticed with aghast that stitched… _etched_ within the interior of the thick fabric were the faces of that threesome of fools he'd fled from while absconding from that cosmic pond scum.

Randy assayed to relieve himself of the coaxing quilt, but it would not release him. In fact, he found that he more he attempted to extricate himself from the soft spread, the more it splashed smotheringly upon him, the oversized afghan engulfing him entirely. Then he was faced anew with the features of the other Fools once more, grafted into the already-meticulously-sewn sheets and grinning or grimacing directly into his grill.

And Rachel returned unto Randy once more with that haunted look, hunting him down with that same accusatory gaze that she gave just before the foursome of fuckabouts headed off those miles upon miles of forsaken wilderness byways to the lake, all so out of season. Frantically the boy searched for some kind of sympathy, pity even from those staring eyes as the girl's face began to ebb from the forefront of this bedside blackness…but nothing of the kind could be gleaned as her eyelids swept shut while the overly shy Sandy-Duncanlike countenance crumbled down into the duvet.

The visage of Cisco was one not to buckle so quickly, though. Randy thought a second to call out to his complete contrasting foil of a friend, shout out that phony camaraderie pet name that was as flimsy as their entire asinine acquaintanceship. This was cut off at the pass, though, drowned out by a muted scream from the demigod jock that sounded in auditory volume not at all, but which at the same time flooded the other man utterly in white noise. It deafened Randy with so much overstimulation; essentially it was the aural counterpart to All Those Colors, of vermilion and of ochre and of otherwise, which lulled so many raftgoers into a slide through the lake-lurking slick.

His ears overrun now, Randy couldn't even register the vavavoom of a victim whom he ended up knowing most intimately, comprehending most carnally in fact during a most untoward, off-guard moment upon those panels cresting the clunking barrels in the center of Cascade Lake. Now LaVerne was lathering his cheeks with a tongue made of tendrils, lacerating into his lips with teeth still tethered up with that same tar that took her down into the depths only so many hours ago.

And now this same Lady of Horlicks lay down with the douche once more, she slithering southward with her menacing mouth, fresh fangs skirting the breadth of the young man's midsection. Verily LaVerne now went down on Randy—not as low enough on the body as the boy might have liked, but certainly more deeply than he ever could have conceived, and with even more vicious verve than the guy himself did upon the girl as he schlemieled and schlemazeled his way into her semi-conscious figure's Shirley, all once upon that lurid lake.

Other students in the apartment complex who had an hour before watched the wobbly Randy barely manage into his unit…they all could now make out the most muffled of moans, ensuing intermittently over the course of half the overnight. All who could hear just wrote the utterances off as post-teen angst and melancholy, in the dead of yet another dreary autumn semester.

When Randy was in fact found, at the request of his regularly-laissez-faire parents a few days later, the investigating authorities were horrified to find a frittering-away form playing at the remains of the reckless young man. The most disgusting detail of it all was that police had the hardest time drawing him away from his bed, as his entire abdomen was permeated over by some kind of bile blacker than any imagined by intellectuals obsessing over the humors in eras past. Even more curious, the oily compound connected the boy inextricably to the fabric, such that man was merged with muck was merged with the mantle upon the mattress.

The only one item which could take the incomers' attention away from this awfulness-in- oleaginous was a scrap scrawled over with what at first appeared to be blood, but was found in fact to be just red ink from a nearby ballpoint.

But the words that were let out upon the leaf…

 _Everything that happened on the lake, it's all on me…_

 _Please bury my body along with the others at the bottom of Lake Cascade._

So did the note prompt the cops, a begging done in fact not at the behest of the boy himself, but rather that of the bilge which had burrowed into his brain and issued virtual mental mandates for him to feed additional, hapless humans to it, that sequoia-diametered coagulation of hazard and hatred.


	2. Chapter 2

PUTRID POOLSIDE PERMUTATIONS: VISCOUS VARIATIONS OOZING UPON THE RAFT

By Quillon42

CHAPTER TWO

As it turned out now, in the respective reality of Raftitude involving the slurpy slime committed to celluloid, Randy's receding into the opaque wave that was the menacing Cascade Lake "oil slick"—that absorption was not in fact an execution, but rather an introduction.

An _in_ duction, really, if you will, into an exclusive elite obsessed with the epicurean, yet also with bonding in the most blatantly soulful manner. That checker of the cruddiest crude upon this lake, you see, it was in actuality a portal to a paradise in which entrants could find release in every kind of liberating activity, from conversating to copulating. It verily gatewayed one to a catharsis of the senses, showering the participant with everything from cumplay to kumbaya.

It just so happened, all this time, that it only _looked_ as if communion with the seafaring cytoplasm were something agony-inducing, something death-heralding. That was only because the bay blob couldn't too handle too many merrymakers at once—although it did wish to mingle with at least a few lucky souls, in a mirthful post-summer soiree at this point—hence its own selective, sludgy process of meticulously merging with its candidates one by one, and making it look and feel as awful as possible so as to scare away scads of carousers crowding around.

But back to Randy now; here the young man, as the hurt was hushed off of him of a sudden, he taking in the strange obsidian grotto into which he was guided, by the ominous entity; he then noticing the gleaming features of the three with whom he came to this putrid pool party, they all ready to receive Randy most randily, to assimilate him into their sphere of sybaritic bliss.

"Randy…baby," began the lady whom the student had swooned for all this time, both in terms heartfelt love as well as in hard-on lust. Her auburn tresses were more plastered to her shoulders and upper back than ever before, but Rachel was still as ravishing as anything, be it aboveblob or otherwise.

"Ray…"

"Ssssshhhhhhhhhh." She waded a bit closer to him in the cavern, her ivory maillot gleaming clean once again, the bathing suit no longer covered over with oiliness.

He wanted to say something more to her as her lithe form reached his…

…but before he could even think to do so, the same piceous pseudopod that flung itself upon the shy maiden's forearm, it had now foisted itself upon his own.

As the second successive 'pod plunged itself around Randy's neck…just as it also had done with his girlfriend of four-plus years…it was as if he could _feel_ now the sparkling hues that he had only espied while upon those unstable slats in the center of the lake. The ochre inundated him with nausea, and the vermilion with vicious agony…

…but then there had emerged an emerald hue now, one which had surged through the other two as if to cleave them in twain, and drug the douchebag up with almost a narcotic-addled euphoria. He forgot himself now, abandoned his concerns at his ostensible consumption by the enormous amoeba, accepted the ecstasy accompanied by injury which was involved in this heaven most viscous.

Randy and Rachel's labial tensors touched, and their lips continued to lock as the loch's languishing leviathan rained pain and pleasure upon and all throughout their human-fragile frames.

These Janus-essenced jolts persisted throughout Randy's rail-thin constitution for another several minutes…then

"QUAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!"

the boy bolted ramrod straight, as he broke abruptly from Rachel once he felt the minuscule mouth working frantically between the flaps of his fanny.

"Hhhhhehhhehhhehhhehhhhh…!" emitted that all-too-familiar, obnoxious paroxysm to which Pancho was accustomed these past few years. He spun around at once, the all-surrounding semi-beneficent blob allowing him a bit more freedom of locomotion in this next interaction. And Lord of Horlicks but would he ever need it.

 _"Cisco?!"_

Randy recognized his old party pal, he decked out still only in that sunshine speedo…but it wasn't so much what was around his waist, but rather what was in his hands that intrigued him.

Especially since the latter was what had been goaded into his glutes an instant ago.

"Ohh, don't mind the old Cascade Canvasback," said Deke, as squirming in his manly hands was the duck that had delved into Randy's derriere. "He enjoys diving, whether intentionally or not."

The other guy leaned in closer a moment, and gazed upon the affected animal a bit more deliberately. …It was the very same, that same bird which the slick had shunted underwater, just before it began its float toward the raft. Man, but was this getting bizarre.

Most particularly as Randy next registered the rare sight of Cisco taking that same creature in his powerful palms…then quickly flinging open the back of his bottoms and filing the fowl away in the same.

Mucho ecologico indeed, Cisco…mucho ecologico.

Randy was primed to utter something in protest then and there, but Deke darted in first with a backhanded slap to his roommate's chest.

"Don't overthink it, Pancho," the ass of an Adonis said, as said hand lingered upon Randy's pectorals. "Just go with the goo."

Something tingling then motivated the skinnier schoolboy to look down at the top half of his torso…which was now effervescent with ebony agony, as his neck and forearm were five minutes past.

Randy screamed in spite of himself a second, he feeling that once again this was some kind of peer payback, here by Deke for the other's failing to keep the jock atop the raft while said footballer fell between the boards…

…but then that traffic-signal trajectory of red pain, yellow illness, and then green relief washed over the worrywart anew, this scope of intense sensations knocking the cornsilk-curled coolblow for a loop once more.

The boy lingered for a trippy trice in this state of discomfort tinged with delight, he dropping that guard which he kept up for so long against gigantic garbage bags cosplaying as lagoon-lazing mire-monsters…

…when of a sudden an extension of said torpid threat took it upon itself to burrow its way well up the skinny dipshit's derriere—what must have been a mile of malevolent muckness cruising up Randy's Hershey highway…

And the bumbling young buck open his yap again to yell, but the pertinent face orifice was itself too glut with glop to emit anything even perpetrating a peep.

"Come now, Randy…just like you wanted on the raft, in wishing to have both me and Rachel…

"Don't you just want to… _double your pleasure,_ here too?"

The taunting prompts pumped out of Lady LaVerne's own lips now, her piehole punched shut in the reader's rendition, but here in the filmic fling that spearmint sister much saucier, her voice never quite "smoked" out by Deke.

Randy, in any case, was indeed experiencing masochism in molasses in stereo, as he took down yards of the creeping water creature from both exits of his body's digestive boulevard.

And through and through the ooze-induced debauchery here, LaVerne gleaned more of a gleefulness from witnessing this, she ecstatic at watching the dinky dastard dissolve, he who abandoned her at the raft and tried to make good his escape, all while she liquefacted into an espresso skeleton.

Yea, in the minutes to come Randy once more underwent that scarlet-into-saffron-into-shamrock progression from excruciation into elation…yet in the end it was still LaVerne who savored the sweetest satisfaction from it all.

It would be another thirty-six hours within that pernicious puddle's pocket dimension, in fact, that Randy and Rachel and Deke and Duck and LaVerne would derive the greatest gratification of their short-lived existences. Then the thing ejected all the aforementioned animals onto the Cascade shore, just near the Camaro, and the five took off (yes, with Deke even making off with the mallard now) having had the most revitalizing vacation ever. Each would then dream of coming back to the blob the following summer…

…but then vetoed such a far-off fancy by racing toward the lake once more the very next day, and diving in head first.


	3. Chapter 3

PUTRID POOLSIDE PERMUTATIONS: VISCOUS VARIATIONS OOZING UPON THE RAFT

By Quillon42

CHAPTER THREE

Maybe more than anything really, the problem is that no one knows why I exist.

Hell, even _I_ wasn't really aware, the first few days…I just lived to eat, and ate to live.

Then it just came upon me, partially by intuition, and partly by instinct:

I am really veritably more or less the official guardian of Cascade Lake.

The Meals, they might see what I look like, and they might balk.

(…or really _book,_ like, get the eff out of dodge—at least if I would ever let them).

But you see, my purpose out here…my mission…it's too important to let offenders slide. The environment is honestly counting on me.

After absorbing a number of organisms, you know, I finally figured out how it all works. To put it in the simplest terms, my role as the mole on the face of this lake is to take all that doesn't have any standing to be here in the first place, and _process_ it so as to purify the area once more. Rectification through recycling, sort of, as I gather up all the things around here that are the real detritus, and after a short trip through my system they get converted into raw materials…

…all of which I shit back out into the water, for the fish and the birds that belong here to lap up and thrive.

I'm the spider sort of savior; the one that's kind of nasty at first blush, but which can be appreciated because it eats all the unwanted insects and other unpleasant kinds of things, so everything else can be put at ease to an extent.

That duck, for instance? Quack quack quacking on and on, then shrieking as I shunted it underwater? Its species wasn't native to the Lake, you know.

So I showed it the door—the dampest, dankest kind of door, but anyway.

…

I'll tell ya, though, it's tough being an October baby for what I am. I just hit the scene generally a few weeks after Labor Day, and by then all the _real_ choice waste around here, it had already blown.

…

Then _these_ four dumb fucks come along.

As far as I'm concerned, that waterfowl that came before, it might as well have gone Snack, Snack, Snack in terms of the squawking and such, as that's exactly what it was for me.

But these asswipersnappers… _they're_ gonna be my main-course Meals. No more loons or squirrels coming too close for me—not for a decent while, anyway.

I meander on over as I see this queerass quartet reach the Platter of a platform in the middle of the lake. They range in physique from Adonis to a dorkus, from mistress to miskayt, but that's okay. The fuckers are all just food to me, in the end.

Yep, nothing to be _too_ too concerned about, folks…just a prime patch of oily essences passin' thru. You, Dbag and Dame, can go on back to your nuzzling and such.

…But you, my little, lithe Lunch—yes you, with the satin-hued swimsuit, as if it's the icing for the yellowcake of your tender, supple flesh—I've noticed you just sitting down, marveling at my flawless roundness. Why don't I just pull on up, make things a bit clearer for you as to what my best side really looks like?

Come on; check out how I sparkle down here. Why don't you just…reach on out, tease me with your joint, as if looking to share…

After all, _I've_ got something to share in turn.

…

And so it's really great, right, because just then, I flail on out, and grab Lunch by the arm, then curl around her neck like an old long lost friend. And she can't even really turn around in time to call out to another Meal on the Platter before I whisk her off the cart completely.

Mmm, it's spicier than I expected, what with all the ginger…aww shit, she's even gonna repeat on me!

…

Yes, of course it hurts, Lunchy…but if it's any consolation, you really taste just as good going down the second time.

I know I'm not supposed to chew with my mouth open, in any case, but that was just a bit of a tease on my own part—a promise to those on the Platter as to where all Meals will ultimately end up.

…

…

…

So she went all the way down my horrid hatch pretty smoothly, I must say…time to top off grub-grabbing for now.

The hell with it all—I'm sure these junior jagoffs ain't lookin' to stick around, after they saw what went down with Lunch—I know I gotta change my tactics a bit.

Dinner's lookin' as if he's raring to leap off and swim for it…well, not if little shimmying, slimying old me has anything to say about the issue.

…

Yes—your FOOT! Oh, how utterly fulfilling to chow down on!

I'm feeling fulfilled, indeed—but still so very, very far from _full._

But in any case, there we have it, folks. With the most disgusting slurps since anything that's come out of a drink machine at your local Seven-Eleven, I hunker…up, really, drag that demigod douche down into the water through the platter slats. Oh, Big Twinkie tries to put up a fight, he really does—but he ain't got nothin' on the persistent peckerhead of a primordial soup special that's yours truly.

Mere seconds after I get him to drop his joints and his condoms and his…Happy Meal action figures or whatever the fuck else he was holding, I'm sucking this scumfuck down hard. And it takes a while, like…minutes more than the others have or will, but he'll still go. If the entire raft has to implode, for me to take someone down, well…that's what it takes.

…

…

Just like that, in the course of less than an hour's work, I've had the loveliest Lunner imaginable. (Some popular, obnoxious comedians out there might call it "Linner"…but I think Lunner shares the phonetics more evenly between Lunch and Dinner. So screw.)

Of what's remaining now, SheMeal jumps virtually on top of HeMeal. Looks like it's about to get pretty kinky and shit, so I back off to watch the show a little. Figure I can digest while these two are going all over themselves with scared. I ain't really goin' nowhere, of course—and these vittles sure ain't goin' bad anytime soon, so I wait.

…

…

…

YAAAWWWNNNNNNNN AHHHHH SHIT you douches! It's like hours and hours later. Thought at least one of ya would make a move by now.

Well, even a motherfuck of a muck like myself has to get some shut-pseudopod at a certain point…so even though it would make infinitely more sense to just wait for these fools to doze on off, then make a move a moment later, I think I'll just turn in too. Fuck it.

It's not like I wouldn't be woken by a desperate splash on the part of either of them anyway.

…

…

…

UUUMMMMMMGGGGGCHHPPPCHHPPPCHPPP it's morning. Loons and squirrels are probably out of reach as usual and where the eff was I OHHH MYYY BOGLINESS…

I can't believe they would be so stupid. (I gotta say, though, seein' this is making my tendrils tingle, somethin' reeeaaalll naughty-like…)

So get this. HeMeal is totally copping on the She right now, like, he's got his meathooks and his maw all over her rack of lamb. I can't tell from here if she's enjoying it also, or if she's still asleep. The hell with it, it doesn't make a difference to me…

…All that matters is that Breakfast is good and ready.

…

Heyyy…don't look so shocked there, Sunny-Sides-Up! You knew from Dinner last night that I could pull this kind of shit. All that Cream Puff over here told you, about staying on the boards, right? You snooze, you ooze, and you lose, after all…

…and in your case, you're forfeiting your friggin' _face._

But yeah, I decide I use some of my internal juices to make Breakfast extra chocolatey…she's a feisty one, and comes back up like Lunch did…but before long at all, I'm fit to digest this most important, and I have to say in so many ways most delectable, meal of the day.

…

Can't talk it up too much more at the moment, though…I gotta catch Dessert…before it _deserts_ me…get it?

…

Come on, that's it! Let's have some fun as I chase you across the expanse of the Lake. Make me work for it. Really, I don't mind…just burning off the calories before the fact, is all.

Honestly, all these meals can go to my oversized inkblot ass after a fashion anyway. You're doing me a favor.

…

…

Alright, so I'm finally caught up to ya now. Pain in my petroleum posterior.

…

What's that, you say? You _beat_ me?

I see how it is. Well, here, then…if you're leaving and such, please allow me a second to just…go ahead and _WAVE GOODBYE…_

…

…

…

MMMMMMMMMMUUUUUURRRRRRPPP AHHHHH that was really somethin' else. So much better than the usual fish and fowl I get rid of around these parts.

…

You know, I'm just thinkin' this as I'm startin' back off towards the other side'a the Lake…it's really bullshit that I just came into being, like, three weeks ago, you know? I mean, spawning in effin' October and everything. Apart from the aforementioned wings and gills, there's really nothin' substantial to score.

I'm sure I could do a lot more justice to old Cascade if I set upon the big time HeMeal/SheMeal scene a lot sooner, next year.

I've heard May's pretty prime for the best of this sort of thing; I'll shoot for Memorial rather than Labor, then, next time around.


End file.
